The Boy with Words for Skin

Chapter 5: Family Dinner

Judith, our older sister, answered the door. Boy screamed her name and threw his arms around her legs.

"Hey, Shawn! How's it going?" she said. She looked over at me. "Hey, Sammie."

Hearing our old names made me feel uncomfortable, but Boy seemed to love it.

"What's for dinner?" He asked, still hugging Judith's legs.

"Lasagna."

"My favorite!" He let go of Judith's legs and ran inside. "Mom! Dad! We're home!"

Judith offered a smile as I made my way to the front door. When I reached her, she slapped my shoulder. She didn't mean to hurt me, but it felt like I'd been hit by a car. My eyes stung with tears and I stumbled sideways into the doorjamb.

"Sammie?" Judith reached for me.

I jerked away. Pain rippled through my body from each of the countless places my skin pulled and pinched. I gritted my teeth and did my best to keep breathing.

"What's wrong?" Judith asked. "Are you okay?" She reached out for me again, but I cocked my head away from her. I held up my hand, unable to speak. Thankfully, she got the message and took a step back.

I took a big breath. "I'm fine." I said, my words ragged. "Just don't. Don't touch me."

Judith peaked inside the house and then pulled the front door shut. "It's happening. Isn't it?"

I would've tried to deny it, but I was too busy concentrating on not passing out.

"Sammie," she said. She covered her mouth and looked away. "Why'd you come if you're going to . . . you know."

The pain faded back to what it'd been before she slapped me. In comparison, it was bearable. I steadied my breathing and looked at her.

"Not that I don't want you here!" she said. "I love seeing you guys! It's miserable here without you. But if you're going to . . . You know . . . then maybe--"

"It's not that bad, yet. I'll be fine. There's still time for dinner," I said.

The front door opened and Boy leaned out. "Come on, guys! Dinner's ready!"

"We're coming," Judith said without taking her eyes off mine.

"Hurry, guys! It's lasagna!" He disappeared back into the house.

"You're a good kid, Sammie, but you really shouldn't have come." Judith said. She sounded exhausted.

I moved slower than a great grandpa with hip and back problems, but Judith stayed by my side as I made my way into the dining room. Everyone else was already sitting in their usual spots at the dinner table. Mom and Dad at either end, Grandma Harriet in her wheelchair on one side near Dad, and Boy across from her. There were two chairs next to Grandma Harriet, and Judith took the one closest to her. I made my way, slowly, around the table to sit next to my brother.

When Grandma Harriet saw me, she let out a soft "Oh, my!" which was the usual by then. She was losing her memory and had been living with the family for a couple of years, ever since Grandpa Nick died. Every week she was shocked at what me and Boy looked like.

I lowered myself into my chair. It took all my energy to not let out a long groan. Muscles squeezed and relaxed, my skin stretched and pulled. I was sweating all of a sudden and the moisture made my clothing stick to and pull at my skin. The hood was staying up and my sleeves were staying pushed all the way down, though. There was no question about that.

The pressure of my body against the chair faded into something manageable after a couple of seconds. It was still really uncomfortable, but dinners only lasted a half hour max. I could do that. I could sit there to make my brother happy. Then I'd go back to 407 West Marshall Street and wait in a dark corner in agony.